


After All This Time.

by alunawrites



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Clarke Griffin & John Murphy Friendship, Episode: s06e02 Red Sun Rising, Gen, Sanctum (The 100), The 100 (TV) Season 6, Underrated friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:35:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21730906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alunawrites/pseuds/alunawrites
Summary: Clarke Griffin and John Murphy saving each other years and worlds apart.1x04-6x02
Relationships: Clarke Griffin & John Murphy
Kudos: 62





	After All This Time.

Clarke Griffin and John Murphy were not friends - quite the opposite actually. Murphy hated Clarke because of her status; her wealth, her childhood, her friends and her insistence on ruining Earth for them all with her rules and ideas. She bugged the hell out of him. What made her so special?  


Clarke hated Murphy because of his actions. Firstly, because of the whole wristband debacle. Clarke vividly remembers when he’d held some poor girl over the flames to set some kind of example for the rest of them. It was sick. She hated how he followed around Bellamy like some lost puppy. She hated how he bullied other members, didn’t do his fair share of the workload and constantly teased the younger kids. It was completely and utterly infuriating. He didn't seem to take their situation seriously no matter what happened.  
  
They hated each other. But that didn't mean Clarke wanted him to die. Sure, she was angry when his knife was found near Well’s dead body, but she didn't want him hung. It wasn’t humane. So she fought for him. Later, it was clear Murphy didn’t show the same consideration.   


She was closest to him; an easy way for him to get the desired results. So Murphy grabbed her, quickly putting his favourite knife against the blonde’s throat. Bellamy faltered and Murphy felt triumphant. He would get what he wanted, and if not, at least he could bring the ’princess’ down with him. But Murphy wasn't a murderer, at least not yet, and he’d briefly pondered whether or not he could actually do the deed. But he didn't let her go - he was in too deep now to simply back out.

Charlotte struggled to get to them, screaming that she couldn't let Clarke get hurt for her, that she didn't deserve it. Bellamy held the small girl back, his mind racing with possible ways to save both girls.  


It was chaos and had happened so quickly no one had any time to resist. Charlotte had jumped. With a burst of energy, Clarke wrestled herself out of Murphy’s limp arms; the boy in too much shock to resist her escape. 

The blonde met Bellamy at the cliff edge, looking into the inky waves for a sign of the child. There was none. Bellamy stood up, though Clarke hardly registered the movement. She heard grunts from behind her, groaning and punch sounds echoing in her head. Turning, she saw what was happening; Bellamy was on top of Murphy and punching his body. 

Bellamy, stop! You’re killing him!” Clarke’s voice echoed through the desolate forest. Her own voice surprised her - she'd spoken before she’d even thought about it. 

Murphy was laying on his back, eyes looking up into the inky night and face dripping a concerning amount of blood. He was fighting back or at least trying to. But his clear disadvantage and Bellamy’s rage paired together created a hopeless scenario for the teenager. He wouldn't win this one. 

The shock of Charlotte’s death was fresh in her mind. The way she'd jumped into the waves down below. Clarke felt immense guilt. It was consuming, yet she pushed it aside to focus on the immediate issue at hand. She could grieve later. _Alone_.   
  
Clarke faintly registered Finn running around and the movements of Murphy’s henchmen lurking in the background. They didn't interfere, knowing full well Bellamy was likely to turn his anger on them if they did so. And so, they stood idly by, uncomfortable by the scene before them yet not making a move to help.

 _Some friends they are,_ Clarke thought.  
  
“Get off me. He deserves to die!” Bellamy grunted, his fists continuously contacting with Murphy’s face in his blind rage. Finn was grasping at the boy's shoulders attempting to pull him away from Murphy.   
  
Perhaps Murphy did deserve to die, or perhaps not. If the last few days on the ground had taught Clarke anything, it’s that they didn’t get to decide that. They didn't have the right to. _They never would._  
  
So, despite the anger and grief, she spoke up. “No! We don’t get to decide who lives and dies. Not down here.” Bellamy’s punches faltered. She wasn’t sure whether it was because he understood her logic or because he was too drained to continue fighting. But at least he stopped. 

Frankly, she didn’t care, because at least there wasn’t another body to be buried. At least not yet.   
  
Despite holding a knife to Clarke’s throat only moments earlier, despite the anger over Charlotte’s death and the hatred she felt for the boy, she showed mercy. Something that would soon become sparse in the war that was to come.  
  
“We banish him.”

  
  
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••  
  
  
The new planet was peaceful until it wasn’t.  
  
Clarke stumbled into the opening, her hand clutched around the radio and searching for someone. Anyone.  
  
“Shut up!” Clarke yelled at her mother through the radio. Her loud voice caught Bellamy’s attention, and he trudged towards her leaving Murphy’s body floating limply in the water.  
  
Clarke’s eyes focused on Murphy — her friend — who was unmoving. “What did you do?” She yelled at Bellamy distraught. The man threw himself at her in a flurry of anger, them both falling down into the dirt. Clarke hesitated - this was Bellamy. The same man who'd stood by her side relentlessly throughout everything. The same man who'd saved her from her own self-destruction. The blonde's eyes flickered over to the body of water. But this was about Murphy. The one who'd always annoyed her to no end and yet the one she admired and cared for immensely.  
  
Bellamy was down clutching his side tightly. Clarke rolled on her side and staggered to her feet, continuing to the pond. Her boots flooded with water as she ran into the water towards the body of her friend.  
  
“Murphy!” Clarke yelled as she dragged his body out of the water, Bellamy spewing death threats out from where he was hunched over.  
  
Clarke rolled Murphy onto his back — searching for a pulse — breathing. Anything at all to prove that he was alive. To prove that she wouldn't have to add his name to her list of regrets. The boy spluttered, his lungs expelling the water that previously filled them. At that moment, Clarke could've cried. No matter how many times she's seen her friends almost die, her heart and world stopped each time until she could prove to herself that they were okay. And he was okay.  
  
Clarke was suddenly pulled away from an awaking Murphy and pinned to the ground by Bellamy. “This time you die, not me.” His fingers laced around Clarke’s throat, cutting off her air supply and choking her. She closed her eyes. Succumbing to the reality that he was going to kill her.  
  
Murphy didn’t want to care. Not about Clarke and certainly not about her wellbeing. God, he’d been trying endlessly to for such a long time. The truth was, it was easier to hate her or try to than accept that he was part of the reason for her suffering, for the world ending and for the deaths of thousands. He didn’t want to care, but he did. Murphy couldn’t just watch Clarke die, not after everything they’d gone through together, not after he lived in the Ring for 5 years while she fought to survive on Earth. No, he was done pretending that Clarke was the bad guy. Because she wasn’t, and Murphy, deep down, had always known that.  
  
“Get off her,” Murphy grunted, attempting to pull the larger male off. His efforts were futile as he was simply pushed away.  
  
Despite his blurring vision and his overpowering fatigue, he refused to stop. Murphy knew that Bellamy would never forgive him, and he knew that he would never forgive himself if Clarke failed to cheat death once again as she had for years.  
  
Staggering up once more, he attempted again, “stop it, man! You’re killing her!”  
  
The two males fought, rolling across the ground and fists connecting while Clarke reached into the nearby bag and set off one of the sedative bombs. As they all crumbled down to the ground, tired and weak, Clarke and Murphy locked eyes, no words were said but they both knew.  
  
They both knew just how far they’d come since the days spent in the drop-ship. Since the days spent despising each other and arguing at every turn. Somewhere along the way, that hatred twisted into something greater.   
  


They'd both changed over the years. If nothing else, that's for certain. 

**Author's Note:**

> My very first fanfic!


End file.
